


Valar Dohaeris

by lilfanficer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilfanficer/pseuds/lilfanficer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya is given the chance to go back and change the past. But how far will go to save her family? (Multiple pairings, M in later chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> AN – Hope you like this prologue. Please comment!

Snow fell all around, the delicate flakes biting into Arya’s exposed arms like tiny daggers. If she didn’t find some shelter soon she would most likely freeze to death, if the Others didn’t get to her first.

The snow was getting deeper by the second and every footstep felt like a climb. Even Nymeria was finding it difficult. But they had to get there. It was their only hope. Westeros’ only hope. The entire kingdom was buried in snow, most of the people were dead, and white walkers patrolled the land, searching for the survivors.

Arya herself had been hiding in the burned ruins of Winterfell, killing any Other that was foolish enough to come after her. She’d stayed there for months, hoping, praying, that her siblings would come. But they never did. In the seventh month since she’d returned to Westeros Arya had just about given up on ever seeing any of her family again. 

That’s when he came.

Flashback  
Arya felt a presence near her. She quickly jumped out of her makeshift bed, startling Nymeria into consciousness too. She reached for Needle and held it to the intruder’s throat, stopping short as she felt the heat radiating of his body. Whoever this was, they were human.

‘Who are you?’ she hissed, trying to peak under the strangers hood to see his face.

An unfamiliar voice answered, ‘A girl has not forgotten a man so easily, has she?’ The Faceless man pulled back his hood to reveal an equally unfamiliar face.

‘Valar morghulis,’ 

She answered automatically, ‘Valar dohaeris.’

The Faceless man nodded at her and gestured for them to sit down. Arya reluctantly complied, setting herself down on the furthermost side of her bed, leaving room for her unexpected guest who followed suit.

They sat in silence until Arya couldn’t take it any longer. ‘Why are you here?’

He smiled for a moment ,’A girl is as impatient as ever,’ he said, amusement lacing his tone. His words implied that they had met before and the fact that she did not recognise his face did but rule this out. After all, their ability to change faces at will was how they had gained the name of Faceless men. Before she could question him further, his smile dropped and his expression grew serious.

‘The men see. The men know. They receive guidance from the Many-Faced God and they must pass it onto a girl.’ He stood up. ‘A girl must follow a man if she wants to save her land.’

The Faceless man had almost reached the half destroyed exit when Arya called out to him, ‘Wait. You still haven’t told me who you are?’

He did not turn around, but instead lifted a hand with only three fingers raised. Instantly Arya’s mind went back to her time in Harrenhal when she worked as a servant by day and killed with a whisper by night.

This time the she whispered his name in surprise.

‘Jaqen.’  
End of Flashback

And so she’d been following him ever since and had been regretting it almost as long. They were up to their thighs in snow and every time they encountered a white walker he just stood back and let her take care of them before continuing on. 

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Her father’s words came back to her. She should have stayed behind, the others could…

Who was she kidding. She was the only Stark left, now. But this man had said something that had given her hope. Hope. She hadn’t felt that in what felt like forever. Arya looked up at the figure in front of her, somewhat blurred by the snow. He’d better be telling the truth.

Arya wasn’t sure that she could go on anymore if he wasn’t.

 

She didn’t know how far they had travelled before Jaqen finally stopped. Everything looked the same in this barren, snow-covered wasteland that was once her home.  
‘A man and a girl have arrived,’ he said, turning around to face her. Nymeria dropped and Arya’s body urged her to do the same but she did not want to show weakness at a time like this. Instead she went on the offensive.

‘What are you talking about, there’s nothing here.’ 

The Faceless man ignored her though and simply turned around and began brushing snow from the ground. A few minutes passed before Arya could no longer hold in her questions. However, they died on her tongue as she spotted the silver glint of metal from beneath the newly cleared snow. Jaqen hurried his pace until a sizable piece of it was visable, then he grabbed the edge of whatever he had been looking for and pulled it back to reveal a set of underground stairs.

He nodded for her to go in, but she held back until he relented, swung the metal covering back and stepped inside. He called back to her, ‘A girl must seal this place behind her.’  
So Arya entered, moving the metal back into place as she did so. It was heavier than she thought it would be. No wonder Jaqen had let her handle all the Others on their way here. She tiptoed down the steps. Her skin prickled and burned as she felt heat for the first time in months, the source obviously the fire of which she could see glowing light at the base of the steps.

She confirmed this as she reached their end. But the warmth of a fire was not all that awaited her at the bottom. The blazing inferno was at the farthest end of the small room that she had just walked into, directly opposite Arya. And at either side of the hard, dark-stoned walls were rows of Faceless men. All dressed in the traditional robes of black and white. She could feel their eyes watching her as she moved to stand beside Jaqen who stood before the fire and she had to grip the fur on Nymeria’s back to keep herself from trembling.

Fear cuts deeper than swords. Even now the old water dancer’s words resounded in her head. She stood face to face with Jaqen. She squared her shoulders, rising to her full height.  
‘How do I save Westeros?’ she asked, trying to keep from sounding desperate and barely succeeding. 

But Jaqen didn’t react, even if he had noticed. ‘A girl must go back. A girl must right past mistakes, if she wants to see her family again.’ He continued before Arya could interrupt. ‘She must give up this life for the hope of a better one.’

Arya’s heart beat faster at ‘family’. ‘But how?’ she asked.

This time he did not answer her in words. The nearest Acolyte reached out a bowl full of powder and Jaqen lifted a handful and threw it on the fire. The flames crackled and spat and suddenly turned blue. He gestured to it. He wanted her to go into the fire.

As if he could read her thoughts he said, ‘It’s the only way a girl can save her family.’ And Arya knew at once that he wasn’t lying. She turned to Nymeria. The she-wolf too had lost everything, her brothers and sister, her pack-mates. Looking into the golden eyes of her other half, she knew that this was the only way. They had nothing to lose. But if they were going to die they would do it together.

Valar morghulis. She thought to herself as she and Nymeria stepped into the fire. And she could have sworn she heard the murmured reply as the flames engulfed her.

‘Valar dohaeris.’


	2. Chapter 2

Bright rays of sunlight assaulted Arya’s eyelids, prompting her to open them. She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times, before her memories flooded back to her. Instinctively she reached for Nymeria. Nothing.

Arya pushed back the covers and leapt from the bed, rushing to the other end of the room to throw open the heavy door. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she ran through the halls of the castle, frantically searching for her she-wolf.

‘Lady Arya!’ bellowed a shrill but familiar voice. Arya froze.

Septa Mordane stomped towards her, her face red with anger. When she reached Arya, she seized her arm in a tight, almost painful grip and Arya had to suppress her automatic reflex which was to break the older woman’s arm.

This urge stopped her short. She didn’t really want to hurt the old septa, but for years, ever since her father had been executed, Arya had moved from place to place with no one to truly rely on but herself. And more often than not she had had to resort to violence. A wash of shame came over her and she had to turn her head away for a moment; just long enough to catch a glimpse of red hair further down the hall. Her head snapped towards the colour. Two figures walked towards then and Arya felt her mouth dry and her whole body tense.

Septa Mordane saw them at the exact same moment and immediately began to drag Arya over to them. The two pairs met halfway. Lady Stark took one look at the septa man-handling her daughter and sighed, ‘What she done now?’ Her face was full of chastisement which Sansa’s mirrored.

If it had been in the past, her mother’s disappointment and resignation would have had her face darkening in humiliation, tears pricking her eyes, and she would have lashed out. But this Arya, the one who had so longed to see her family again, stood as still as a statue, staring up at her mother and memorising every detail of her in case she disappeared into a wisp of smoke like the ghost she used to be.

But she didn’t. None of them did. Instead Septa Mordane went into a lengthly explaination of Arya’s most recent wrong-doings.

‘Well. Firstly she was late to rise from bed this morning and when I went to awaken her I found her running around the castle in her smallclothes. Her smallclothes! Like some common girl!’ The septa angled herself so that the two females could get the full view.

‘And don’t even get me started on how she behaved during her needlework yesterday…’

Arya tuned out the complaining woman’s voice and looked down at her attire. Indeed she was in her smallclothes. She must have slept in them the previous night. Still. At least she wasn’t naked. Everything but locating Nymeria had fled her mind.

Until now.

She looked up again. Her mother had placed her hand upon the side of her face and was shaking her head exasperatedly while Sansa looked positively scandalised. No doubt it would not be long for the news of her latest escapade to reach the ears of the rest of the family. Theon and Jeyne too.

But a big part of her looked forward to it. She would finally be reunited with her whole family. The giddiness she got from this revelation stayed with Arya for a long time. Even when the septa took her back to her room, dressed her in an uncomfortably itchy dress and pulled and pinned her hair into a tight braid, even as she sat eating lukewarm mutton and stale bread because she was late Arya grinned like a fool. She was home.  
Later, when the table had been cleared, when the ovens had long cooled and Arya was alone in her chambers, she was once again struck by Nymeria’s absence. She could hardly believe that she’d forgotten. After all, the reason she’d left the room in the first place was to find the she-wolf. But seeing her mother and Sansa again after all this time… and then the others too. She still could not fully comprehend it all.

A thought occurred to her then. Though she had seen Jon and her other brothers, she had not seen their wolves. And when she had mentioned Summer to Bran as they broke their fast he had looked at her blankly for a moment before going on to talk about the season Summer. The more she thought about it, the more it all made sense. Given how far she’d gone back in time, it was entirely possible that Nymeria hadn’t even been born yet.

Thinking about this, she wondered why the Faceless men had sent her back so far. They never did anything without a purpose and this decision weighed far more heavily than most. Arya tried to recall what happened after she first got Nymeria. The memory hit her like a blow. Of course! At dinner time the day the boys brought the pups home her father had announced that his foster-father had passed away and that the King was coming to Winterfell in a month’s time.

That’s when everything began to change. That meant that whatever Arya had to do to fix the future was centred around the royal visit. She started to panic. She wasn’t ready, hadn’t prepared herself yet. Arya didn’t know what she should do. She rose from her sitting position on the bed and began pacing across the room, racking her brain, searching for an answer, any answer. 

She slowed her steps letting her logic reign and the answer come to her. The reason King Robert came North was to make her father Hand. The reason he needed a Hand was because Jon Arryn had died and Jon Arryn had died because he had been investigating Joffrey’s lineage so the Lannisters had poisoned him.

Therefore if she could stop him from poking around, he could live long enough for her to make a plan. Arya smiled to herself for a moment before it fell and she dropped herself onto the bed, perplexed once more. How was she ever going to stop him? She was here in Winterfell and he was miles away in King’s Landing. Even if she went there herself, she would have no way of getting an audience with him and if her parents found out they’d never let her leave the castle ever again.

Arya lay back on her bed. She closed her eyes and tried to will a solution into her mind. Nothing. She turned her head from side to side, kicking her legs. This was so frustrating! Her tantrum ended as quickly as it began and Arya opened her eyes, looking at her reflection in the mirror that hung upon the adjacent wall. What she saw was a young girl – perhaps seven or eight – who had barely ever left the safety of her father’s castle and who knew nothing about the outside world.

Of course this wasn’t at all true of the woman that was inside. But in this child’s body, Arya was a far cry from the warrior that she once was. That had to change before she could set anything in motion. She had to find a way to communicate with Jon Arryn.

She got back off her bed, grabbing a cloak from her chest as she headed out the door. It was no good. She couldn’t think like this. She needed to go somewhere to clear her head.  
The wind outside had become chilling and at once Arya was glad that she’d brought her cloak. The frigid air reminded her that it would not be long until Winter came and the memories that she associated with it chilled her both worse and deeper than any snowfall.

Lost in her thoughts, her legs carried her of their own volation and before she knew it, she was at the Godswood. Looking around at the pale trees with the red faces, immediately Arya felt at ease. She always felt that way when she came here. She was a Stark. She would find a way to prepare for this Winter. It was in her blood.

She found an old tree branch to sit on and sat down, watching the wind make ripples on the surface of the hot spring and trying to come up with a solution to the problem with Jon Arryn.

Arya closed her eyes and meditated on it. Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a twig breaking somewhere behind her. Her eyes snapped open and she whirled round, preparing to defend herself against the intruder. But it was only Jon. Seeing him, her defensive stance melted and she couldn’t stop the large smile that formed on her lips.  
‘Woah there, little warrior,’ he said, chuckling.

Arya punched him soundly in the arm, but then hugged him, simply because she couldn’t help herself. She laid her head on his chest and when she breathed in she caught his scent. Sweat and horse hair and a aroma that was all his own. For a moment it felt like all that had happened before and that she had never left home at all. She’d missed him so much.

Jon, however, could not read her mind and just ruffled her hair like always, before pulling back slightly and asking gently, ‘Something wrong, little sister?’

Arya stepped back, composing herself. ‘No it’s nothing. Did you need something/’ she asked.

Jon’s smile still held a ting of worry, but he answered anyway, ‘I came to fetch you for dinner we have guests, and you can’t be late like this morning.’

Arya chose to ignore that. ‘Guests?’

‘Yes. Some man from the Night’s Watch is going south to collect recruits from the dungeons in King’s Landing.’

‘Yoren.’ Arya breathed, the name slipping from her tongue before she could catch it.

Jon looked puzzled, ‘That’s right… but how did you know that?’

She tried to laugh it off, leaning in to her older brother and whispering, ‘Because I’m a Seer.’ Jon’s eyes widened for a second and Arya gave him a challenging smile to take the sincerity out of her words before darting through the trees towards Winterfell.

Arya knew that Jon would think that she was teasing him and begin to chase her. She could hear him already. He was gaining on her fast so she pushed her small legs faster, determined to win their race. And she did. Barely. By the time she reached the dining hall she was red-faced and out of breath. Jon followed soon after in the same condition and Lady Stark glared at the both as they took their seats opposite each other at the table. Jon in particular. Arya kicked him lightly under the table to get his attention, and gave him a reassuring smile to soften her mother’s censure. It seemed to work as he returned her smile before starting into his meal.

Her father waited until everyone had finishes the first course before rising to introduce their guest.

‘As I’m sure you all already know, we have a guest this evening.’ He gestured to the dark haired man to his right, who nodded in acknowledgement. ‘This is Yoren of the Night’s Watch. He will be staying with us tonight before heading to the capital in the morning. I expect all of you to treat him with the respect and courtesy he deserves.’ Lord Stark listened to the murmurs of agreement of those present before sitting down. As soon as he was seated, conversation resumed around the table; at Arya’s place too.

But instead of listening to her mother’s and Sansa’s delicate, lady-like chatter or even to Bran’s recount of his latest climbing adventure, Arya strained her ears, trying to eavesdrop on her Lord father’s discussion with his companion. She was too far away and she could only make out snipets over all the other noise in the busy room.

‘It’s been a long time since…’

‘…Benjen’s been…’

‘…thank-you.’

Desert came before she heard anything useful. She had become tired of trying to listen in and was beginning to give up when she heard her father mention the name that had been rolling around in her brain since breakfast.

‘Jon Arryn…’

Her head turned swiftly to the head of the table where her father sat, startling a serving girl into spilling wine over Sansa’s dress. Her older sister whined and reproached her and Arya had to mumble a quick apology before tuning her out altogether, once again listening intently to the men’s conversation. It wasn’t long until she got what she needed.  
The gruff tones of the old crow gave it to her. ‘The Watch is grateful to you and Lord Arryn for putting us up while we’re gathering recruits.’

Arya had to stop herself from jumping up and down in jubilation. She’d found a way to get a message to Lord Arryn. All she had to do was convince Yoren to pass on a letter while he stayed at his residence. She finished her food quickly before excusing herself from the table, much to Sansa’s annoyance.

She hurried to her room, locking the door behind her. She rooted through the drawers of her desk in search of some paper. They were a mess; her younger self had been far more disorganised than she remembered. At last she located a few sheets of clean, smooth parchment and grabbed her quill, preparing to write.

Dear Lord Arryn,  
I am duty bound to inform you that your life is in grave danger. Lately you have been investigating matters of great importance to this kingdom. I commend you for this. However, for the sake of yourself, your wife and your son I beseech you; stop this. There are a great many powerful individuals who stand to lose much if you are successful. But I fear you will not be. It will not be long until they discover your intentions and when they do your entire family will be in jeopardy. I am fully aware that this is a lot to comprehend and that you may be unable to accept the word of a stranger but I had no other option but to warn you in this way. Do not provoke the Lannisters. It will cost you your life.  
Yours Faithfully,  
A Friend

She had to make revisions and had gone through all her paper before she was satisfied. She folded the letter carefully and sealed it with the seal she received from her father on her eighth name day. A wolf’s head. She hoped it would help Jon Arryn look upon her and the truth of her words favourably. She kissed it lightly, offering up a small prayer to the Old Gods to please let this work. The cost would be too great if it didn’t. She knew that better than anyone. She tucked the letter securely into the outer layer of her dress and exited her chambers once again.

She tiptoed through the corridors of the castle with the hood of her cloak drawn up over her head, making her way to the guest chambers on the far side of the courtyard. She ducked into the shadows whenever she saw a servant or a guard. It would not be good for her to get caught. It could ruin everything.

She arrived at the door to Yoren’s chambers undetected. Arya gave the wooden door a few, hard knocks and listened to the sounds of the man inside rising and undoing the latch. The door swung open and she saw clearly for the first time the man who had saved her all those years ago. But a stable boy just happened to pass by then so Arya pushed the man back entering his room in the process and letting the door blow closed behind her.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded, as blunt as always. Arya let herself smile beneath the hood, then lifted her hands to its rim and pulling it back, revealing her face. Yoren’s expression after seeing who she was was priceless. It looked like his eyes might pop out from his head. Then he gathered himself and questioned her again.

‘Just what is Eddard Stark’s little girl doing in a man’s chambers at this time of night?’

Arya didn’t waste any time with the stammering excuses she would have used when she was actually eight years old and just got straight to the point.

‘I need you to deliver a letter to Lord Arryn for me,’ when she saw his eyebrow rise at the ordering tone, she added, ‘please.’

‘And why should I do that?’ he asked, grabbing a cup of wine and sitting back in the high-backed chair in the corner of the room.

He wasn’t going to do it. She could see it in his face. She had to find a way to convince him; everything depended on this. Arya thought back to the time she spent with Yoren on the King’s Road. There was a night when neither of them could sleep and he had told her the story of how he had ended up joining the Watch. That was it!

Arya made her face look as innocent and pleading, ‘It’s for my brother. Jon. His fifteenth name day is coming up soon and I want to get him a present. A sword. One of the best ones from King’s Landing. I’m sure Lord Arryn would be able to get me one, then I could pay for it after. I’ve been saving since last year.’ 

‘If you want it so badly then I’m sure your father would be able to get it for you. And a lot quicker too.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t tell him. If he finds out, he’ll tell mother. And mother will never let me get one. She… she is not fond of Jon.’ Arya felt a little guilty speaking of her lady mother this way, but it was not a lie.

Yoren stared at her for a while before replying, ‘No, I’m sure she’s not.’ He sighed. ‘Give me the letter and I’ll see what I can do. But I ain’t making no promises. Lord Arryn might not be as obliging as you think. Or he might tell your father himself.’

Arya beamed at the older man as she produced her letter and placed it in his outstretched hand. Then they said their goodnights and Arya returned to her room, where she slept more soundly than she had in a long, long time.

The following days she spent at Winterfell were filled with both joy and trepidation. She was still basking in the glow of her victory in making contact with the Hand as well as enjoying the quality time she could now spend with her family but she still had no idea of the outcome her letter had fostered.

It wasn’t until her father and brothers set out for a deserter’s execution and returned with six dire-wolf pups that Arya’s joy eclipsed her fears. As she cuddles Nymeria to her chest and fed her milk from a soaked cloth, she felt entirely whole. The feeling was so overwhelming that she barely heard a word of Bran’s avid retelling of the pup’s discovery.  
But as they sat at the dinner table that night, Arya’s worry returned. She held her breath as her father rose to speak, fearing the worst. However, instead of the grave news she had expected, Lord Stark made a joke about there being six new mouths to feed during winter. She tried to casually prod him for information later but got nothing. A huge weight was lifted of Arya’s shoulders. She had succeeded.

And Arya indulged in this happiness of hers for almost two years. Spending time with her family during the day and sneaking out at night, Nymeria at her side, and practicing all she had learned in her previous life. But that came to end when Sansa got promised to a young lordling from the south and Arya realised that it would not be long until it became her turn.

Her level of swordsmanship now was probably better than the majority of her father’s men. But it still was enough. She had to become one of the best. And not just with regards to fighting, she had so many new skills that she had to learn if she was to be able to do anything at all.

What this meant, although it pained Arya very much to admit this, was that she would have to leave Winterfell. So she went to her father and begged him to let her tour the Free Cities. He was reluctant at first and her mother was wholly against it. But when she professed a desire to exploit her freedom before she was shipped off to marry some little lord.  
This won over her father and he overruled his wife, agreeing to Arya’s request. Though he set two conditions; she must be under constant supervision and she could only stay for at most two years before she had to come home.

In the end, Arya had ended up breaking both of these conditions. This payed off when, four years later, she received a letter from home saying that Jon Arryn had passed away, that her Lord father was going south to become the new Hand and she must return immediately to go with him, Arya knew what she had to do.

She was going to become Queen.


	3. Chapter 3

ARYA  
The strong sea winds blew the hair back from Arya’s face, wafting the salty scent of the ocean her way. She inhaled as she looked out across the growing distance between her and the Titan of Braavos. The enormous statue was now no bigger than a dot fromwhere she viewed it on the horizon. Arya couldn’t help but recall the first time she’d seen it. It felt like a lifetime ago and it was, technically. Once again she was gripped with excitement at returning to her family.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed her time in the Free Cities. She had. However, going there reminded her how alone she had been the last time she’d ventured across the Narrow Sea and not a day went by when she didn’t long to come home. But she couldn’t go back until she knew for certain that she was ready. As it was she had already done everything that could be done. The first night after she had arrived on the shores of Braavos had snuck out of the house that her father had rented for her and knocked on the doors of the House of Black and White. When she showed her coin to the Kindly man his eyes widened and since then they had provided her with everything that she needed; money, connections, training. All the knowledge, skills and wealth she could possibly require in her quest to become Queen.

She had started off in Braavos, polishing her swordsmanship and becoming quite proficient with a bow too. She also learned the names of poisons, their uses and how to conceal them; she’d also taken some of the more common ones in small doses so as to develop immunity to them in case her life was ever threatened in this way. And from what she remembered of the Lannisters, this was completely possible.

After this she went south, to Pentos, where she established useful connections (with some help) with some of the richest merchants, enabling her to make some money of her own and teaching her about how to invest wisely. Further still south in Myr, and much to the delight of her septa, Arya began to learn how to sew and dance and behave like the lady her mother had always tried to turn her into.

When she finally flowered at the age of fourteen, she managed to pick up a few pillow tricks during her four month stay in Lys. But in her year in Essos, Arya mastered the womanly arts under the tutorship of non-other than the Black Pearl herself. It was hard at first and her character did not take easily to these kind of lessons but she learned all the same.  
Arya toured the other cities too – some more interesting than others – all the while picking up skills and purchasing presents for her parents and siblings.

Getting rid of the guards and the chaperoning septa (not Mordane, thank the gods) that her parents had insisted go with her wasn’t hard at all. She just had to get them distracted with something and then sneak off. Her two guards were enamoured by the eastern whores and the young septa discovered that she enjoyed gambling – slightly attributed to minor encouragement on Arya’s part. They daren’t tell her father about all this for fear of punishment so after the first time it became a sort of unspoken agreement; Arya could do as she liked and she didn’t tell her father how they’d been spending their time either. And they never truly checked her bed at night for fear of Nymeria who always slept at its base.

In truth she felt a little bad about exploiting them like this but it was necessary if she didn’t want to waste this valuable time. Time she had to spend away from home.  
As if hearing her thoughts, the captain announced that the ship would be docking at Widow’s Watch soon. She went below deck and into her cabin. Nymeria raised her head in greeting from her place on the floor and Arya sat beside her, burying her face in the dire-wolf’s soft fur and day-dreaming of home.

 

JON  
Jon felt the cut of the knife on his chin as he tried to get rid of the minor remnants of his barely grown beard. Robb and Theon were already finished and were waiting for him, discussing the rumours about the visiting royal family. They had all been told to make sure they were presentable for the arrival of the King and his party. That meant a haircut and a shave.

Jon was curious about seeing the King and Queen. His father had told him thrilling stories about his valiant friend and Cersei Lannister was said to be the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. But all that paled in comparison to what else would happen today; Arya was coming home!

It had been four years since he’d seen his little sister. Four years since he’d ruffled her hair and called her that. Four years since he’d heard her laugh. He had missed her so much.  
She’d written regularly to the family; her parents, Robb, Bran, even Sansa and she often included something in them to be said to Rickon until he could read them on his own. What she sent Jon, though, was something more special. Sketches, paintings, trinkets and sometimes food, if it could keep on the journey. Arya sent them all to him, with such vivid descriptions that it started to feel as if he were there with her. He sometimes wished he was and she did too; she’d told him so in her letters, which all sat tied with twine in a big bundle in a drawer in his chambers.

She would not be arriving on time to greet the royal family with everyone else but she would be there for the feast. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t be sitting near each other so he’d have to wait until after to properly welcome her back. It was the prospect of this that warmed Jon as he waited alone in the practice yard while the Starks greeted their guests.  
He used the time to practice his bow skills. Arya had mentioned in her letters that she’d learned a little and he wanted to be able to show her more. But a few hours later he had to take a seat on the benches to let his brothers and the princes spar.

First it was the crown prince and Robb was clearly the better swordsman, though he wasn’t declared the winner outright. The problem arose while Bran and prince Tommen were sparring using wooden swords. The two boys were getting out of breath (Tommen especially) so Ser Rodrik asked the older two if they wanted to go another round. That’s when of the blunt tourney swords the armsmaster had insisted they use. Ser Rodrik refused and the resulting japes Joffrey and the mocking laughter had both Rob and the Winterfell’s Master-at-arms red with anger and indignation.

Jon himself had to struggle to keep himself in check. He knew his father had expressly forbidden the use of live steel today and , from the smirk on the prince’s pouty mouth, he knew it too. 

Joffrey was truly a little shit.

He was startled out of his fury by a small pair of hands covering his eyes.

‘Guess who?’ an all too familiar voice whispered in his ear. He quickly got off the bench and spun round to see Arya, clad in a gown with a dark cloak draped around her shoulders, smiling up at him. He immediately clasped her in a hug, spinning her around like he did when she was a child.

Their happy reunion was interrupted by a string of foul curses from Robb. They both looked to see that Sandor Clegane had now stepped forward and that Theon was trying to hold their brother back from punching Joffrey’s girly face in.

Arya slipped from his arms and walked to where Robb fumed. She reached over Theon to tap him on the shoulder.

‘What?’ he snarled.

‘Well hello to you too, brother,’ she replied, laughter in her voice.

Abruptly all the anger drained out of his brother and was replaced by confusion. Arya took advantage of his temporary speechlessness to address the other people in the practice yard.

‘I hope you don’t mind but I would like to borrow my brother. We haven’t seen, and we have a lot to catch up on.’

The prince said nothing but Jon caught a flash of desire in his eyes as he took in the matured form of his little sister. His anger returned.

Clegane spoke first, breaking the silence, ‘Run along, girl. This ain’t your quarrel.’

Jon could see Robb begin to bristle once more. He understood. Girl or not, Arya was still highborn and Clegane had no right to speak to her that way. He expected her to be right along with Robb and possibly even lash out at the knight. But she didn’t. instead her face went blank, as if she were surprised and she turned her face from side to side, looking around.

‘Quarrel?’ she queried. ‘What quarrel?’ She smiled sweetly at Clegane. ‘Surely a gallant knight such as yourself would never involve himself in something as trivial as a quarrel?’  
Arya’s jest incited laughter from both sides and she curtsied to Joffrey with a polite ‘Your Highness’ before grabbing Robb by the hand and leading him and Jon back towards the castle. Leaving Joffery and his minions behind.

 

ARYA  
A guard opened the door of the Great Keep for her and she went inside, motioning for her brothers to follow. Her parents, Sansa and little Rickon, almost seven now were already waiting in the solar and after a few moments an out of breath Bran stumbled in, still wearing his padding. 

He glared up at her as he panted. ‘Thanks for waiting for me too,’ he said sarcastically.

Arya smirked at him. ‘Sorry.’ She approached him, poking at the extra layers covering his chest and stomach. ‘Must have missed you under all this.’

He gave her a wry smile. ‘Funny.’

She laughed, smacking her little brother’s arm playfully. ‘Stop sulking and come get your present.’ Arya walked over to the table where the family usually broke their fast and where she had placed all the gifts she had purchases for them in the Free cities.

She had already made sure to send them all presents for their respective name days, but these were different. The former had only been small tokens to assure them that she hadn’t forgotten them. But what lay in front of her now had cost almost her weight in gold collectively.

She lifted Bran’s first; a leather bound anthology of all his favourite tales and more, hand-written on gold leave pages by the monks on Norvos and embossed with his name. Arya handed him the book and watched his eyes light up with wonder.

‘So… am I forgiven?’ she teased.

Bran shook his head eagerly, flipping through the pages before tearing himself away to give her a hug.

The others had similar reactions to their presents. For Sansa she had gotten a beautiful powder blue gown of the finest Myrish lace which matched her eyes perfectly. She accepted it graciously but Arya could see the barely concealed glee in her eyes. Her mother received a diamond necklace set in silver with a large tear-drop shaped stone hanging from the centre; it would go well with the stark colours she often wore. Lady Stark inhaled deeply, them smiled tearily and embraced her, murmuring thanks in Arya’s ear. Her father did the same after seeing the giant tapestry she had had made in Qohor of their family. Both Rickon and Robb beamed proudly at their weapons; an ivory bow and arrow set (a perfect size too, she noted happily) and a long sword forged from the best valyrian steel money could buy. The hilt was encrusted with small diamonds and dark opals. Looking at her older brother’s expression Arya guessed that Prince Joffrey and his entourage would be getting an eyeful of it on Robb’s hip at the feast tonight.

Finally she came to Jon. He had also gotten a long sword. She unwrapped it and slid it from its scabbard and heard more than one gasp from the others in the room – Jon included. The blade was made of dragon glass and the hilt of steel. The end of it was adorned with an ivory wolf’s head with ruby eyes. It looked just like ghost.

‘It’s dragon glass. Just in case you happen across any Others when you’re at the wall.’ She smiled at him then sheathed the sword and pushed it into his hands. Her father and brothers laughed at her (apparent) joke and crowded round Jon to congratulate him and admire his new gift but Arya could feel her mother’s glare on her back. She ignored it. Arya feared Jon would need it in the not too distant future.

The moment passed quite quickly and soon they were all chatting and catching up. After a few bells her father said that he wanted to speak to her. As the others looked on in curiosity, he added, ‘Alone.’ Then they made their good-byes and went off to get ready for the feast.

Once they were gone he cleared his throat and asked her to sit. The look on his face heralded bad news.

‘When His Grace and I were talking earlier he said… well, he suggested that-that you could…’ he trailed off and Arya had to wait patiently for him to begin again.

‘How would you feel about marrying the prince?’ Before she could answer he continued. ‘You don’t have to answer right now. Just think about it a little.’ With that he ushered her to the stairs which she ascended to her room.

Even with her father’s evasiveness Arya had a good idea about what he was trying to say. She went to the chest of things she had bought herself in the Free Cities and selected a dark grey gown that she knew looked good on her and prepared herself for her official introduction to the royal family.

 

ROBERT  
He was already seated and suitably drunk when she entered the room on the arm of his eldest son. She was clad in grey lace which contrasted her pale skin and her face… her face was a reflection of his lost love.

Ned introduced her as his youngest daughter Arya. The one he had proposed for Joff’s bride. For a long moment as he watched her smile Lyanna’s smile and laugh Lyanna’s laugh with her family he sorely regretted his decision.

He stole glances at her over the rim of his wine cup the whole night, listened to her conversations with everyone from her father to the serving wench who refilled her cup and once he even ventured far enough as to ask her about her time across the Narrow Sea.

The way her face glowed as she retold her time there took him back to the tourney at Harrenhal and Lyanna’s awestruck expression as she watched the knights duel.

But there were differences too. Lyanna had a splash of freckles across her nose and her hair was a lighter shade of brown. Robert also couldn’t help but notice the ample bust that was partially visible from the neckline of her gown. Bigger than Lyanna’s despite her niece’s younger age and her curves, while just as slender, were more defined. Joffrey seemed to notice her all this too. And Cersei noticed the looks both of them gave the young girl as well as the gem around Lady Catelyn’s neck which was bigger and more expensive than hers. She got repeated refills of the wine that she always criticised him for drinking and her face was a mask of scarcely concealed fury. His wife had been in an awful mood ever since they had arrived and it only worsened when he told her of his plan to wed their eldest son to Lady Arya.

Even his conversation with Ned in the crypts earlier that day had not gone as he’d hoped it would. He had thought his old friend would jump at the chance to pair up with him once more. Then again court and Eddard Stark wouldn’t exactly be a match made in heaven. But that was what Robert needed; someone who wouldn’t be swayed by the cunning plots of court members and could govern the kingdom without letting it go to his head.

One thing was for sure though; betrothal or not Arya Stark was coming south with them to King’s Landing.


	4. Chapter 4

ARYA  
It was a long ride from Winterfell to King’s Landing; all the while they followed the King’s Road, stopping frequently for the comfort of the royal party. At first Arya enjoyed herself; taking in the scenery and striking up conversation with her fellow riders. A popular topic of conversation was horses and why she had chosen to ride instead of travelling in the wheelhouse with the other ladies. Even the Lannister men took an interest in how she’d managed to acquire her purebred Valyrian mare that she’d named Midnight for her sleek black coat.

But as fatigue set in conversation died out and Arya was left to her own thoughts. Her departure from Winterfell came to mind. It was not only she and her father that were leaving; Sansa and Bran were also coming with them. Bran would be leaving them when they reached the Forks but her sister would be accompanying them all the way to the capital before going on to Highgarden to marry its heir – Willas Tyrell.

Jon, on the other hand, was going further north to the Wall so that he could become a member of the Night’s Watch. Arya had tried to talk him out of it for she knew how dangerous it would soon be there. But her brother would not hear of it. Now that everyone was leaving he felt that he should do the same. Though he had not said anything else, Arya had seen his eyes shift to her lady mother for a second.

It was no secret that Lady Catelyn wanted Jon gone. Especially now that most of her other children and her husband were also leaving. Arya spurred Midnight on, trying to direct her thoughts to what lay ahead. There was nothing she could do about the two of them now.

They stopped to rest for a few nights at the Neck. On the day before they set off again Arya was tying Midnight to a tree and feeding her sugar lumps that she had taken from the kitchen in Winterfell and saved for the journey, Nymeria napping beside her feet. The mare neighed in delight; they were her favourite. At that moment Prince Joffrey and his large knight drew near behind her.

‘My Lady,’ he said, by way of greeting and Arya smiled hers before turning her attention back to the horse.

Joffrey cleared his throat, prompting her to turn back again. She put on a curious expression. ‘Is there something that you need, my prince?’ she asked politely.

Having now gained her attention, he straightened and said in an insincerely bored tone. ‘I was wondering if you would wish to accompany me for a walk.’

Arya made sure her smile was bright as she took the prince’s arm. ‘I would be honoured,’ she lied.

The two of them followed a partial path in the wood, headed for the river. They chatted constantly, Arya putting on her best smiles and complimenting him regularly. About half way he got a wineskin from Clegane before dismissing him. He insisted she have some too, ignoring her protests concerning her father’s rules. She took little sips and fiddled with the cap.

As they reached the river, Arya saw a face she hadn’t seen in years. Mycah. She dropped the wineskin, drawing the notice of the butcher boy who was washing something in the river. At once he rose then went back down in a respectful boy. He saw the wineskin and gingerly picked it up to hand to her.

She recovered herself and thanked him kindly. A blush painted itself on the boy’s face, much to the displeasure of Joffrey.

‘Who do you think you are staring at like that, peasant?’ he asked, snidely.

The boy looked startled. ‘M-milord?’

‘I am the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms and that is my future bride you were making eyes at. I should kill you right here.’ Joffrey reached for the hilt of his sword but Arya stopped him.

Just as he was about to round on her she kissed him. He was so stunned that his hand dropped from the sword and instead moved to her lower back along with the other. Her hand rested gently on his upper arm and the other she reached out to wave Mycah away. Assured that the boy was far out of Joffrey’s reach, she pulled away. The prince made a moan of protest but Arya just giggle and spun away from him, encouraging him to try and catch her. He didn’t and neither did he speak to her again until they reached the city gates.

The large, cast iron doors of the River Gate slowly swung open, finally giving them access to their destination. The massive crowds that awaited them astonished her. Never had she seen so many people gathered in one place. It had not been this way the last time her father had ventured south. Arya hoped it was a good sign; it certainly seemed that way.

‘Long live the Hand!’

‘Long live the King!’

‘Long live Prince Joffrey!’

The smallfolk belted out such sentiments constantly as the rode the path to the Red Keep which was now her new home, most likely forever. Other members of their party were praised by the masses too. The Kingslayer and Queen Cersei for example. The twins basked in their glory; the queen especially.

As they entered the Red Keep, the heavy oak doors of the castle closed behind them, muting the roar of the crowds. The interior of the castle was huge; much bigger than the one at Winterfell and much more extravagantly decorated. There were banners everywhere. Most were Baratheon stags but there were also a number of them with golden lions on red fields. Lannister banners, Arya noted with distain.

But as soon as her feet touched the ground of the courtyard and a stableboy took the reins of her horse, Arya suddenly felt far too tired to explore. Her father had a servant show her to her new chamber in the Tower of the Hand. As soon as she was alone she collapsed upon the bed and fell asleep.

While her father completed his duties as Hand Arya spend most of her days with Queen Cersei and Princess Myrcella. The younger girl was agreeable enough and Arya could even imagine them becoming friends with time but the company of the queen was almost unbearable. Still, she dared not complain to her father. He had enough to deal with; that much was evident through the deepening lines on his face and the bags under his eyes sprouting from stress and lack of sleep, that she observed as they broke their fast together each morning.

So Arya decided to take matters into her own hands.

She was sitting in the queen’s solar; sewing and conversing along with a few other ladies. A couple of wives of Lannister bannermen had joined them. So had Margaery Tyrell. Arya had heard the rumours about her reasons for coming to court; it was said that the Tyrells were an ambitious bunch and had their sights set on the position of queen for Margaery which was why, at twenty, the beautiful highborn lady was still unmarried and, from what Arya remembered about the girl’s past marriages, was most likely the case. She decided to keep an eye on her suspected rival.

This was made very easy as Margaery was not only her soon-to-be good-sister but she also seemed to be having similar thoughts to Arya; no doubt seeing the intimate looks Joffrey gave her at feasts, having already forgiven her for toying with him at the Neck.

His mother, however, was not so fond of her. In fact the more time that she and the prince spent together in the evenings, the more critical Cersei became of everything Arya did; from her home region to how she dressed.

Arya was expecting, given the presence of the additional guests, that she would try to humiliate her in some way or another and the queen did not disappoint her.

The ladies in the solar had been silent for a few moments when Cersei remarked, ‘Margaery your embroidery is simply lovely!’ She smiled at the Tyrell girl before turning to Arya.  
‘And what have you managed to come up with, Lady Arya? I’m sure whatever it is it cannot be compared to Lady Margaery’s,’ she said, lifting the embroidery from her lap and displaying it to the other ladies, receiving coos and compliments all round.

Arya smiled at her future good-mother. ‘You are right, Your Highness. Lady Margaery is indeed far more skilled than I. But I still hope that Prince Joffrey will appreciate my gift.’ With that Arya held up a remarkable likeness of the crown prince and watched the nasty smirk fall from the older woman’s face. Everyone else gasped, even Margaery, and set about asking her questions. Where had she learned such skill and how had she sewn her subject so accurately.

‘I spent some time in Myr; they have some of the most skilled embroiderers in the world there and I was fortunate enough to learn some things from them. And as for the likeness…’ she trailed of, blushing like a maiden in love, ‘… the prince is never far from my thoughts.’

The ladies erupted into a string of awws and eventually they resumed sewing. After that Cersei Lannister never tried anything like that again in any of their similar meetings that followed.

It was after one such session, as Arya was walking down the halls in the direction of the courtyard and thinking about how she could speed up her plans for Joffrey, when she came across a young cat. Its golden tail was caught beneath a closed door and the little creature was struggling and mewling in distress.

Struck with pity, Arya rescued the poor thing. Just as she scooped the grateful cat into her arms, she heard fast footsteps behind her and turned to see Prince Tommen running towards her, checks red and eyes anxious. When he reached her he had to spend a few minutes catching his breath before he spoke. During which he gestured to the animal in her arms with unintelligible words.

She got the point, however, and handed him the cat. Tommen examined the thing for any injuries and satisfied there was nothing serious he turned his attention to her.  
‘Thank-you,’ he said beaming at her.

‘It was nothing,’ she replied and made a move to leave. Joffrey was expecting her and he would not take it well if she were late. In fact he would probably come looking for her… A devious thought occurred to Arya as she recalled the incident at the Neck. She smiled sweetly at the young prince, rousing a blush on his alabaster checks.

‘So. Does this little beauty have a name?’

 

JOFFREY  
Joffrey stood at the edge of the courtyard, looking around for his betrothed. They had arranged to meet a quarter bell ago but still there was no sign of her and he was losing patience. He hated being the first to arrive; it made him seem too eager, and after a few minutes he had sent the dog to find her. He was returning now.

‘So did you find her?’ he demanded. He was disgusted by the frustration in his voice.

‘Yes,’ the large man grunted. ‘She’s in the hall outside your mother’s solar,’ he pointed in its direction. ‘Speaking with your brother.’

Immediately anger irrupted inside Joffrey. ‘What?’ he gritted out. Not waiting for an answer he pushed by his bodyguard and stomped his way towards the only person who had ever made him wait.

 

ARYA  
Out of the corner of her eye Arya saw Joffrey approach. She made sure to fit in one last giggle at one of Tommen’s japes before letting out a shocked gasp as he grabbed her arm with one hand and knocked his younger brother to the ground with his fist.

‘You stay away from her, or else!’ he growled, jabbing an accusing finger at the stunned boy before dragging her out of the castle, through the courtyard to push her against the stone wall of the Red Keep. Hidden from the view of others.

‘What were you doing? Why were you with him?’ he interrogated, face red with anger. Arya hid a smile and baited him further.

‘Why are you so angry? There is no reason why I shouldn’t speak with him. He’s nice.’

‘You are my betrothed!’ he yelled, shaking her slightly.

She responded calmly. ‘No I’m not. Nothing is set in stone. My father has yet to agree and Tommen is closer to me in age. Also-’

Arya didn’t get to finish. Joffrey had closed her mouth over with his. His lips sliding over hers in hard possession, his tongue invading every crevice of her mouth. They kissed until dark, when it was time for dinner.

At the table Arya bit her still swollen lips, trying to hide a satisfied smile as King Robert announced the official betrothal between her and the crown prince and the date of their wedding. Two months from then.

The sun was at the highest point in the sky as Prince Joffrey Baratheon unfastened her maidens cloak and replaced it with a crowned stag embroidered one in the Baratheon colours of black and yellow. From her place at the altar, she was able to spot her parents and siblings; side by side along with Sansa’s husband and his sister, whose smile was somewhat pinched now that the position of queen was now well and truly out of her grasp.

Hundreds were present in the Great Sept, even more than when she’d first arrived in the city, witnessing the union of the future king and the Hand’s daughter. But the shouted congratulations from their noble guests could not even compare to the roaring cheers of the smallfolk as Arya and her husband descended the steps of the sept and rode down Visenya’s Hill. They threw flowers and bellowed good wishes and compliments. Joffrey shone with pride as he lapped up their adoration.

It wasn’t until he looked over to her that she saw his true feeling in his expression. Triumph. He thought that their little game of cat and mouse was over and believed himself the victor. He was wrong on both counts. He had already fallen into her trap and this was only the beginning.

Compared to the long, drawn-out ceremony, presided over by the grossly fat High Septon with his nasally, self-important voice Arya much preferred the wedding feast. But even the companionship of her family and the hilarious japes provided by the Imp could not distract her from what would happen later that night. The Bedding. It certainly did not help that Joffrey kept sending her meaningful looks and even on occasion squeezing her leg under the table.

It wasn’t that she was worried. She had had sex before during her ‘exploration’ of the Free Cities. But was necessary to fully master the art of love-making. No, everything would go as planned and Joffrey would be more than satisfied with her. But just the thought of him touching her made her want vomit. Still, if she wanted to succeed in her mission she had to have as much influence over him as possible and the best way for her to do that was to control his cock.

All too soon, the king stood up, rather clumsily, already fully drunk and pronounced it time for the Bedding to begin. At once multiple pairs of hand assaulted her, his included, ripping off her clothes and manoeuvring her towards the bedchamber, all the while telling her vulgar japes about what happened between the sheets.

By the time Arya was bundled into the bedroom, she was completely nude and felt dirty from all the men who had laid their hands on her. Joffrey was already there and as she stepped further into the room he looked her over appreciatively.

His eyes darkened with desire as he took in her naked form. But Arya made no move to cover herself. Joffrey licked his lips and stalked towards her.  
When he reached her he pulled her flush against his body and already she could feel the evidence of his arousal poking at her thigh. She pushed her hips towards it, inciting a moan from her new husband. He leant forward and kissed her, driving his tongue forcefully past her lips.

They began to move towards the middle of the chamber, mouths still connected, even as he leaned her back onto the end of the bed.

After they shuffled their way to the its centre and Arya lay her head on the soft, silken pillows Joffrey moved his lips to her ear. She caught the strong scent of wine on his breath and resisted the urge to gag as he whispered for her to spread her legs.

She complied hesitantly, playing the part of an innocent maiden. But that and the false cry she gave as he broke her non-existent maidenhead were both lost on Joffrey as he plunged in and out of her wetness. If she had truly been a virgin no doubt she would have been in a world of pain right now.

As it was she simply let out loud sighs of pleasure as the prince devoured her mouth and groped her breasts, all the while thrusting his hips into hers as fast as he could. As his pleasure grew his grip tightened and he began to scratch and bite her too. So ferociously that Arya knew she would be covered in cuts and bruises when morning came.

He came twice inside her; the first time letting out a harsh grunt and pressing their hips together as close as they could go without becoming one and the second time she was the one to push him over the edge as she tightened her walls in a fake orgasm.

After that he collapsed on top of her, exhausted, knocking the air from her lungs. She took in small, somewhat even breaths and waited for him to fall asleep. It wasn’t long until she could hear him snoring softly. She disengaged herself from his limbs, climbed off the bed gently and moved to the vanity at the side of the room. She opened one of the drawers, removed the false bottom and lifted out a small blade. She made a shallow cut on the crease of her elbow and smeared as much blood as she could near the spot where Joffrey had first entered her. 

She then returned the blade and replaced it in her hand with a small paper package that she had also slipped in in preparation for this night. She tore the top off and swallowed its bitter contents in one go before burning the waste paper in the fire the servants had lit to keep the newly married couple warm through the night.

Before getting back into bed she lifted a towel a kind maid had thought to leave and used it to wipe Joffrey’s seed from between her legs. The seed that she had just ensured would never take root.


End file.
